Personal Narrative: My Mother

Mary Ann Henley age 20, a light skinned African American female with bright red hair, is carrying an extra 30 pounds because she’s pregnant with her second child. The year is 1989 in Birmingham, Alabama on a cool early autumn Sunday morning in October; she snaps awakes from sharp contractions. Mary sits up on the headboard on her queen size bed; in her one bedroom apartment contemplating what to do. Her contractions were too far apart to head straight to the doctor. So, she called her older sister Doris, who left work to pick up her sister. Meanwhile, Mary called her doctor who insisted that she come in to the hospital. While speaking to her doctor her a pop sound, but before she could reach the bathroom her water broke in the hallway.

I was born with a diaphragmatic hernia. A diaphragmatic hernia is a birth defect in which there is an abnormal opening in the diaphragm. In 1997, only 1% of the babies born with the defect were able to survive the condition; shockingly, I was part of the 1%. After finding out that I had the condition, I had to be shipped to a hospital on the other side of the state of Rhode Island. So one of my father’s friends was a police officer. I was police escorted across the state, in order to make it in time; I made it in time. At the time, babies with the condition had to live for 3 days in order to qualify for the surgery. The first 3 days of my life were some of the most stressful days of my life my parents had to go through. Right off the bat, the doctors told my parents it was very unlikely that I would last 3 days. I was a very small baby, only weighing 3 lbs. But by some miracle, I lived for 3 days and I was able to get the

We waited at the door for our mother, we knew better. Once she approached us we turned around and took a look around the gift shop. I didn’t have a clue as to what I wanted to get.

It’s been a week and Charlie has been continuing to care and nurture her family in a way that she has never done before, but she’s concerned because it doesn’t seem as if there is any change her family is still unaware of her presence. Charlie doesn’t say anything because she figured that if she’s a little more patient then the change will soon come, when Charlie gets back from school she shuts herself out from her family in her room. Charlies face starts to get over heated and warm tears fall from her face and she starts balling tears as she’s crying the glow reappears and Charlie wipes away her tears. Why the tears asks Mary as Charlie tries to catch her breath she stutters that she has done everything that Mary has asked and after a week

It was the afternoon of April 17th, one more month until I was done with junior year. Everything was going great: good grades, good friends. We had family from Colorado visiting, and I was so excited to see them! It was the moment I got home from soccer practice, that turned my life completely upside down.

I interviewed my dad Greg Kivlahan, Greg had a very fun but hard life. His dad owned a company called Kivlahan & Sons Construction, Greg worked there when he was fifteen. He was born on December 20, 1966 in Dubuque, Iowa. Greg, grew up in Dubuque and has lived in Dubuque all his life. Greg was born, at Finley hospital.

It was a dark, early morning, and something was amiss. Strangely, mom was not home; she was always up thirty minutes before me. My dad confirmed my suspicions: my grandma had gone to the emergency room with crippling stomach pains. That wasn’t an unusual event; my grandma was no stranger to Hillcrest. On Thanksgiving, she had been in the hospital for a heart attack. However, this time, a few days after Easter 2015, felt different. Like a raincloud, I felt disquiet brewing over my head, but I shrugged it off and went to school.

“A birth mother always puts the needs of her child above the wants of her heart.”

The first time I was ever called a Feminist was in my freshman year of high school. It was a hot day in early June. Every student was itching to be set free on their summer vacation. Before the bell rang, The afternoon announcements rang out over the intercom with the usual monotonous stuff like the clubs that were meeting after school that day, and last call to hand in uniforms for the sports season that had just ended. Then came the standard dress code announcement. "Ladies and gentleman, we know the weather is heating up, but please still adhere to the schools dress code. This means that shorts must be fingertip length, and there are to be no open toed shoes or flip flops." After going to public school all my life, I had heard all of these

After my mother and I have an argument she usually smiles at me and says, it’s because we’re so much alike that we argue. She reminds me that our lack of communicating often stirs more trouble than why we were arguing. I used to get upset that my mom didn’t set time aside for our family to spend time together or make us eat together at the dinner table. I was upset because I was comparing our family to my friends’ families. I valued those things and assumed my mom didn’t, but I was wrong. My mom had so much on her mind everyday it was breaking her on the inside. Not only had I wanted my mom to be like my friend’s moms, now I had wanted my mom to be different because she was depressed. Bonhoeffer mentions that we desire images of others that we want, but aren’t the true image they bear as Christ’s (pg37-38). At first I was puzzled. How is a good image of mine, not Christ’s image for her? I learned that His image is neither right nor wrong, but simply uniquely divine. My mom could have done those things, but her whole life would have had to be different, and I would never want to change who my mom is.

Five and a half years ago, my father played softball at a place in Manteca called Big League Dreams where he met his wife and my step mom. Little did I know that my step mom at the time would become my step mom. When I first met her, when she came over to my father house’s, she seemed like a nice woman. Then, a year later she started to act like she was my mom. I wasn’t happy with that because she started to become strict and not fun at all. However, one day she started to help me get organized my clothes, books, and even my video games which took a long time. Fast forward to the year for 2013 on Christmas day at about nine o'clock in the morning, my father proposed to her and that was a happy day for my entire family. On October 10,

It was a quiet Thursday night for the labor and delivery unit with an almost clear whiteboard. As I made my rounds, the nurse asked for my help with a patient who may need to undergo an emergency C-section. Within 15 minutes, the physician determined that the emergency C-section was imperative. The nurse and I prepared the patient for surgery. I held the patient’s hand as the anesthesiologist gave the patient an epidural block; she smiled at me and thanked me for my help. She confided that she was nervous because it was her first pregnancy. I continued to hold her hand while the nurse and the tech transported her to the operating room. As we approached the operating room, the patient tightened her grip from both anxiety and excitement. I

As I am on a gurney being rushed to the operating room, my heart is racing and I'm scared to death. Just moments before the doctor was in my hospital room telling me, “Things don’t look good, we are taking you to the OR, your blood work and vitals are not good. If I don’t take the baby now you could die!” Everything flashes before me, I panic. Some of my family wasn’t here yet and my baby may not survive.

I love my mom. I wouldn't replace her for anything, but my mom and I don't always get along. We fight, we have our difference but we are both for sure are stubborn like a mule. She doesn't like it when I don't obey or listen to her and I don't like to listen or obey her. We both don't like to admit wrong either. We have many fights but this is one of the fights that is most memorable to me. (well that cuz it was the most recent one)

When I finally arrived at the hospital, I received the message I was dreading, they had moved into the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). Trying to hold myself together I ambled through the hospital halls, leading my mother toward the ICU; we entered the room to see a crowd of familiar faces gathered by a hospital bed. Stopping before the bed, I took a deep breath and without actually